James Dickey - Gucci-Fo-Life lyrics

But Lewis and I were different, and were different from each other. I had nothing like his drive, or his obsessions. Lewis wanted to be immortal. He had everything that life could give, and he couldn't make it work. And he couldn't bear to give it up or see age take it away from him, either, because in the meantime he might be able to find what it was he wanted, the thing that must be there, and that must be subject to the will. He was the kind of man who tries by any means-weight lifting, diet, exercise, self-help manuals from taxidermy to modern art- to hold on to his body and mind and improve them, to rise above time. I looked at him. He lived in the suburbs, like the rest of us. He had money, a good-looking wife and three children, I could not really believe that he came in from placating his tenants every evening and gave himself solemnly to the business of survival, insofar as it involved his body. What kind of fantasy led to this? I asked myself. Did he have long dreams of atomic holocaust in which he had to raise himself and his family out of the debris of less strong fold and head toward the same blue hills we were approaching?